


Love in Separation

by Kaisha



Category: Slaughterhouse Rulez (2018)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Boarding School, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pre-Canon, Suicide Attempt, Will Blake gets a trauma conga line, this will break you and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaisha/pseuds/Kaisha
Summary: Spoilers for SHR, but a prequel. Will Blake is not okay. In the two weeks that have passed since Seymour's death, he's been more broken and alone than ever before. With no-one else to make his hellish school just a little more bearable, just how low can he sink? How the fuck is he expected to make it through hell now? Will doesn't think he can, and the world seems hellbent on confirming those suspicions.





	Love in Separation

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note before you get into this, this is a rather heavy one-shot dealing with difficult themes including but not limited to homophobia, suicide, references to self harm, and an attempted rape. Please practice self care. IF you do proceed to read this I hope you enjoy.

Two weeks. Two whole weeks and it was like Willoughby Blake was the only person who even remembered that Seymour had ever existed. Could it really take so little time for a whole school to forget about him? Then again, the school was full of his murderers. Will was the only person who had ever cared about him in his life, it seemed. Let alone loved him. And he never told him enough.

From the start, the two had been closer than close. Neither of them realised, at first, that it was anything other than fraternal. That it could be. And yet, over all the years they had been roommates at their hellish school, they only got closer and closer. Eventually they couldn’t imagine life without each other. And the plans they’d made… oh the plans. After Slaughterhouse it would be easier. It had to be. They could get away from Clegg, from their families, from anyone who could hurt them.

Will still forgot sometimes, for a second. When he first woke up, until he glanced over to the empty bed beside him. Or in their study, near the boathouse, any of their old haunts. Seymour was just… gone. And worse than that, Clegg had killed him. Killed them both, really.

When he’d walked in on them together that fateful night they both knew they were done for. Clegg had already had his suspicions, but this was just the final nail in the coffin. Seymour’s too. As soon as he had more than just sneaking suspicions he acted. And in the way that he knew would hurt the most. Psychopath. The abuse he gave the pair already was unbearable enough. There was no need to call his parents too. The way they reacted…. It made Will wish it had been his parents Clegg called instead. Maybe then his boyfriend would still be here.

The times they’d spent together, the stolen kisses, the touches, the passion. Will was certain Seymour had saved his life just by existing on more than the one occasion. If only he could have done the same for him that fateful night. Seymour had snuck off while Will was sleeping, and by the time he woke up, he was alone in the world. A world so messed up he had to see his boyfriend’s cold dead body. He knew instantly. He could feel that something was wrong, something was missing from the world. Something important. Fuck. It should have been Clegg.

Will just lived in a quiet fury in every single moment that passed, never allowed to show how he felt, who he was. Even his old, tried and tested coping mechanisms did little to dull the pain without Seymour. He wasn’t sure why he was even still alive. There was no reason for him to be. Not now. His family had never really cared in the first place, and the only friend, the only one who cared… he was the only person who would notice he was gone. And yet… he still hadn’t followed Seymour. He thought, perhaps, that he was waiting for that one last push, or finding a way to take Clegg with him. It would be easier, he thought, to be given that one final reason.

He knew, of course, that there was never a time before he was broken, before he hated every little thing about himself. And Seymour had been the same. But that was the thing. The things they despised in themselves, they could love in each other. And the things they couldn’t love they could at least try and help with, the only kind of fucking support each other could ever have in Hell. Every flaw, every physical and mental scar, every fucked up way they tried to cope with their families and the shithole of a school… neither boy could help himself, could stop himself, could make it through any of the days in there without those little broken things breaking them all the more but keeping them alive. But they could hold each other whilst they cried, they could tell each other the things they wished they could say to themselves, they could support each other through the hardest days and nights. 

He remembered, of course, the first time that they’d had sex. It was, of all places, in their study. Seemed like a good place at the time. It wasn’t, of course. Willoughby realised that now. Even more dangerous than the boathouse. It was too public, too… anyone could have walked in. Blocking the door was only so effective, could only have lasted so long. Not only that, but anyone could have heard.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Seymour had asked him.

“More sure than anything, Sey. I love you.”

“And I love you too. So fucking much.”

After it was over, the best afternoon of either one of their lives, they just lay there, Will’s head on Seymour’s chest. And that was the best part. Admittedly, the sex part had been pretty shit. It was bound to be, between two virgins - they knew they’d get better in time. But the closeness, the intimacy, Seymour running his hand through Will’s hair and being able to do the same to him in turn, and being so completely vulnerable with each other. Those little moments were the best part of it all. It was peace, happiness, like the world wasn’t such a fucked up place for guys like them. It was love. Their doomed, perfect secret. The intimacy was the part he struggled to live without the most. They didn’t keep secrets. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

And yet, Will couldn’t help but hate himself for missing out on his chance to save Seymour. He should have known. He should have known he would try it again. He should have known that sooner or later he wouldn’t get there in time to save Seymour. 

It had only been three days before he succeeded that Will found him in that same room. Their room. It was only by chance. He skipped his last lesson of the day, which was Seymour’s free period, wanted to come back to their study early, spend some time together, especially after all the extra shit Seymour was getting from his parents, from Clegg, from the entire school now that he’d been outed in such a horribly humiliating way. Even if most of them already knew he was gay, this was… different. So much worse on both of them than before. Even though no-one knew that Will was the boy Clegg had found Seymour with, there was still talk, still speculation. And Clegg wasn’t the only one making both of their lives all the worse for it.

When Will walked into their study that afternoon, the last thing he expected to see was Seymour, bleeding thin lines through his school shirt, choking, hanging from the ceiling. But still alive. It was like time moved too slowly and his heart was beating too quickly. But he managed to save Seymour. That was the important part. 

“Why, Seymour, why did you do that?” He begged, pleaded. He couldn’t imagine being able to survive Slaughterhouse without him. 

“It’s not enough, Will. Nothing I can do is enough to get me through this anymore. I’m so tired and I can’t… I can’t keep on doing this. My parents are threatening to send me somewhere else, to try and fix me, fix us. Make me… normal. I can’t do that, I can’t lose you. I hate them. Hate Clegg, hate all of this.”

“Then… we should go. Run away together, leave all of this shit, this hell in the fucking past where it belongs. Go somewhere where no-one knows us, where Clegg can’t hurt us anymore, we can start again, Sey. Try living like the rest, where no-one cares who we are and who we love. Please, please. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have...” Both boys were sobbing, now. Uncontrollably so. 

Seymour laughed. One tiny, broken little laugh, “That’s all… fantasy, Will. We’re not living in a fairytale. Fuck. There’s no way, no chance that would work.”

“But we can try, right? We have to. We will.”

Seymour nodded. Slowly. Though he promised Will he wouldn’t try to do it again, and Will promised not to leave him, not to let him be alone, to take the brunt of Clegg’s torment, it wasn’t long before he lay dead, cold, hastily buried in shame. He never even got to go to the funeral.

The problem with hanging yourself? It’s a kind of science. Back in the day, the hangman would have to carefully calculate the right amount of rope to use to make sure the poor bastard’s neck would break easily, and they wouldn’t be left hanging there until they slowly choked to death. And that kind of end would take so much longer, be all the more painful. After what Will saw that afternoon, he knew that a school tie clearly wasn’t the right length. Still, if he was drunk enough now, he could pretend, even for a fraction of a second that three nights later, when he didn’t wake up in time, when Seymour left the dorms and killed himself, that it had at least been over quickly, that his neck broke and he wasn’t choking there for god knows how long. But that was a lie. The only person who ever cared for him had died a slow and painful death and he slept through it. He didn’t even notice in time. He should have known better. His mission now, he thought, in whatever little time he had left, was to make people remember. If he couldn’t make them pay, if he couldn’t make all the fucking psychopaths in the godforsaken school feel as guilty as they should, then he could at least make sure Seymour was never forgotten, that hopefully someone would listen next time someone was struggling, or wouldn’t fucking bully them to death. Really, he wanted to break down the whole system. Blowing up the whole school would be a nice start, to. But at least maybe it would work out for the next Will and Seymour. Not that either of them would live to see it. The ties, trying to make a despicable psycho like Clegg feel guilty, it was the only thing he could do to distract himself from thinking about meeting his own end too. 

They’d both talked about it for years. But as a fantasy, like the games Hargreaves and Wootton played now. The only feasible way they could leave the school unless they survived. And they were both determined to make sure the other made it through. An early death was a deep desire, destined to remain unfulfilled. And yet, Seymour had done it. And each day that passed, Will came closer and closer to following suit. Life was just going on as normal. Not one person, even the boys in their dorm, the boys who slept near their beds, the ones who’d surely heard even once the things they sometimes whispered to one another in the night, had asked if Will was okay, if he was coping. Everyone knew, at the very least, that the pair had been the best of friends. Even if he’d been fucking normal he wouldn’t have been okay with his roommate’s death. Not at all. 

The expectation was that he’d show the same stiff upper lip everyone else in the school did, that they had all been trained to do since early childhood, that he’d just carry on as if everything was fine and dandy. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even cry. Mostly, he was too numb to. He was floating through his classes, doing whatever he could to get through each day in his study, barely sleeping at night. 

It was only the day after they found Seymour’s body that Mr Houseman asked Will to pack everything Seymour owned, his entire life, away. Send it back to his parents with his body. Sweep every single part of Seymour under the rug. He didn’t want to do it, not at all, he didn’t have the mental strength, but he knew that if he didn’t do it, someone else would, someone who would take every single part, every single memory of Seymour away from him. At least if he did it himself he could keep some mementos. A few clothes, photos, presents they’d given each other. Little things. Hell, even if it was big things he doubted Seymour’s parents would ever have noticed. No, they wouldn’t, he decided. They probably barely noticed he was dead, for the amount of time they ever spent with him when he was alive.

He was going through Seymour’s desk drawers that day when he found it. A letter. Addressed to him, on Seymour’s best stationary, alongside his prized lighter. He knew. Right away he knew exactly what this was. And he could barely stop his hands from shaking for long enough to open it. But he had to know. And since that first time, he’d been reading this last message over and over, trying to change it. To bring Seymour back. But those words never changed. Within a week, he could recite it by memory.

Wills, I’m sorry.  
I broke my promise. But know that when I made it, I meant it. I meant everything. I mean everything I ever told you. You were my light, my love, my life. And I know in my heart that if things had worked out differently that we would have gotten out of this hell, had a life. Together. We would have been happy, wouldn’t we?  
Consider this my last will and testament. Everything I am - was, was because of you. So everything I owned is yours to keep, should you want it. You’re the only one that ever mattered to me. The rest of the school probably cares about as much as my parents. But most of all I bequeath to you my lighter. I know you’ll treasure it always, that you’ll use it and remember our time together. And I want you to remember those. The good times.  
I only wish I was strong enough to see all the rest we could have had. Don’t be sad for me, my love. You were always the strong one. You’ve got an amazing life ahead of you. Don’t waste it like I did.  
Forever and Always,  
Your Seymour. 

Will kept it, of course. Alongside the lighter and the other things he kept. Never even told anyone it existed. It wouldn’t change things now. This note was special, of course, and he kept it in a special place. In uniform, it was always in his blazer pocket, next to his broken heart.But it would always be in one of his pockets now, no matter what. Even though the school had all but erased every other part of him. 

Over those two weeks, the most difficult two weeks of his life, Will, as tormented as he was, had tried to be true to his love, tried to be strong, to live for both of them. And he was failing. Badly. In that time he must have written nearly a hundred suicide notes. But none of them were right. Not even close. And with a little help from Seymour, he had burned them all. He’d get there eventually, he’d get it right. Although, he supposed, there wasn’t much point when he had no-one to write it to. No, he didn’t have a friend in the world anymore. Maybe that would be all the more poetic. Besides, he’d been planning it for long enough to know that he wouldn’t make the same mistake as Seymour. No, he was going to do it, but he was going to get it right. He wouldn’t give himself the chance to change his mind, but he wouldn’t suffer either. He had options.

In spite of what happened, Clegg was more determined than ever to make life hell for Will. And it was easier, too. There was no-one in his study with him to have his back. He’d taken to blocking the door to protect himself, just in case. After 2 weeks, he’d gotten more lax with it all. Careless. What he had once done with Seymour to give them some real privacy had become his protection. It was foolish to think Clegg wouldn’t barge in. Because, of course, on the first day he didn’t, Clegg just barged his way in whilst Will was reading Seymour’s note on the sofa, and listening to their song on his record player. Love in Separation. All the more fitting after Seymour’s death, of course. How ironic. 

“Ah, Blake. Thought I might find a fruit like you rotting away in here.” He stood in the doorway for a moment before he came in, quickly closing the door behind him. 

“What do you want, Clegg? Come to rub it in my face again how you bullied my roommate to death?” 

He scoffed, “Like I said before. Your roommate, your problem. You clearly didn’t go a good enough job of that.”

Will glared at the older boy, but he couldn’t help but feel like that monster was right. He hadn’t done enough to save Seymour, had he? Not by a long shot.

“So I was wondering. Was it always you buggering your viscount, or did he ever get a turn being the man? Personally, I think you’d have made a much better little whore for him than he ever was for you.”

Will didn’t like the sound of what Clegg was saying, not one bit. He’d made more veiled threats in the past, but it was like this was different. Somehow far more sinister. Didn’t help that they were alone with the door closed. He’d been reclining, before. Listening to one of his records. He sat up, as quickly as he could. He knew he needed his wits about him. But still. He’d be defiant. For Seymour if not himself.

“That’s none of your fucking business and you know it, Clegg.”

“Watch your mouth, you Filthy. Little. Queer. You are speaking with your god.” Something which should have been a term of privilege and honour, Will thought, not something to drive fear into the hearts of anyone any lower down in the hierarchy. To a so called god like Matthew Clegg, Will might as well have been a slave.But still, as he said that, Clegg drew ever closer. 

“Just stop, okay? Get out you bastard. You’ve got no right to be in here.”

Clegg smirked, “I think you’ll find I have the right to be wherever and do whatever I choose to do. You forget. I rule this school. You, on the other hand. You’re nothing, and you always will be, Blake.”

By now, Clegg was right in front of him. And frankly? By no means did Will feel safe. 

“I’m afraid I’ve got to be heading off rather soon, Clegg. Busy busy, people to see and all that. Lovely chatting with you, though. Must do it again sometime.” 

He slid Seymour’s letter back into his pocket and tried to stand up, to find anywhere else to go, but instead Clegg just pushed him back down. 

He laughed, “I don’t think you’re quite grasping the situation here, Blake. You’re going nowhere. In fact, I’m going to make you my bitch this evening. For all I know, you’re only half a fag right now. And I’d hate for you to miss out on the full experience. Especially now your dear little Viscount is dead.”

Will froze. No. No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Could it? He’d made threats before, yes. But they seemed half like a joke. Not like this. 

“If you dare try anything, I’ll scream.”

He scoffed, “No of course you won’t, you fool. Besides I thought you would like it. A real man showing you how it’s really done. I hardly see anyone else stepping up to the plate. You should really thank me, you know. I’ll be doing you a favour.”

Before Will had the chance to react to that, Clegg was pushing him down further and further onto the sofa, clamping his hand over his mouth. He tried to push him off, but to no avail. The older boy was putting all of his weight down on top of him, crushing him and keeping him silent whilst he removed his own school tie. He could be agile if he really needed to, yes, but he didn’t have anywhere near enough physical strength to get out of this kind of situation. As quickly as Clegg removed his hand, he replaced it with his tie, and Will couldn’t help but feel like he’d planned this whole course of events. Like he knew what he was going to do before he even set foot in the room. To prevent him from removing the gag, Clegg held both his hands above his head with one arm, and started to unbutton and remove Will’s trousers with the other. 

When he’d gotten Will’s trousers halfway down his thighs, he stopped. It was like he was horrified. Will knew exactly why of course, but he could be glad, at least that it gave him the chance he needed to get out from under Clegg’s grips. After all, he wasn’t exactly focused on his mission anymore. Just barely, he was able to pull his hands free, to knee him in the balls - although he knew he hadn’t done so very well, it was enough to allow him to get up and dash to the other side of his study. Clegg tried to grab him, to get him back and stop his escape, but he managed only to grab hold of his blazer, and Will quite easily slipped out of that, though the blazer itself wasn’t so lucky.  
Will refused to give Clegg another chance. No, not after that. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky the next time and the idea of that alone left him terrified. He didn’t let his eyes leave Clegg, not even for a second. It pained him to look at him, especially after what had nearly just happened, but letting his guard down like that again was far too great a risk. First of all, he removed the gag and throwing Clegg’s tie to the side, he put his trousers back on properly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare try anything like that again Clegg.” He sobbed. 

“I think you’ll find I do as I please. And you will regret that, Willoughby Blake. And that’s not a threat. It’s a promise. And to think, I’d decided to go easy on you.”

Will said nothing. 

Clegg began to rifle through Will’s blazer pockets, “Looks like I’ve found another one of your dirty little secrets. No wonder you cover more of your skin up than just about any other boy in the school! It’s as though… Edward Scissorhands was the boy I found you with instead of your viscount! And I don’t think the school will take all too well to that when I tell them to take a good, hard look at that skin of yours. And your parents? Tut tut. Perhaps it should have been your parents I called when I found you.” 

“No, please. Don’t. I…”

“I think you know th- well well well,” he said, pulling Seymour’s note from Will’s jacket. A quick glance at the contents told him all he needed to know, “A deal then. Either we finish what we started, or I destroy this. You keep it in your blazer, so I can only presume it has a lot of sentimental value for you. Either way, I keep your perverted little secrets, and you get to eagerly await my next visit. But if you try to keep both your perfect unbuggered little arse and the note? Well I’m afraid I’ll simply have to tell everyone what a disgusting little ponce you really are. So, Blake? What will it be?” But as if he already knew the answer, Clegg stood and approached the window.  
Willoughby’s heart sank. There was only really one option. “Destroy it.” he said, “Just kill him all over again, why don’t you?”

“Oh. Now that’s a shame. Still,” He said, pulling a lighter from his pocket, “You’re always going to be looking over your shoulder, aren’t you? Waiting for the day I come back and finish the job. What fun. And Seymour killed himself, you know that. You even got to see the body. I bear no responsibility. No, I think you’ll find that’s all on you. Now how long can you really live with that?” 

As he finished what he was saying, he set fire to the note. And as the flames approached the tips of his fingers, Clegg dropped it from the window. And with that, yet another part of Seymour had been taken away.

“I’ll be seeing you, fag.” Clegg said, as he pushed his was past Will and out the door. Like none of that had even happened. Even though he had left his tie behind, he still looked like the picture perfect prefect. Monster.

The only thing stopping Will from ending things right there and then, ironically enough, was Clegg himself. More than ever, he needed to make Clegg pay. He couldn’t get off scot free yet again. In ideal circumstances, he’d kill Clegg then himself. It was still plan A. Doing it the other way around of course would be remarkably more difficult. Picking up the half empty vodka bottle from beneath his desk and finishing it off would help for now, he rationalised. He’d have needed a good drink to steady his nerves either way. He knew that he’d be polishing the rest of the bottle off quite easily before the end of the evening after another day like this. But he wasn’t going to let his guard down. Even if it meant never even sleeping again, Clegg would never get another opportunity like that. 

That was his life mission, now. However little time he had left, every moment would be spent working out a way to bring Clegg down. He just wished he could have more help. Now Seymour was gone, now he had their study to himself, it wasn’t safe. Why did he have to leave him behind? All he could do was down his vodka and cry. What was another night behind on his studies? Besides, it wouldn’t be long, he supposed, before yet another bully in the making joined the school. Took Seymour’s desk, his bed. The quicker they could do that, the more people who would be able to pretend he had never been there in the first place. Will was the only person who never would. Seymour was everything. His everything, and he was going to fight in his name for the rest of his life. Whatever little remained.


End file.
